Like Water off a Duck's Back - Let it Roll

by Anonymous

My name is not important, my mission is however key to enjoying senior life. I was told by my doctor way back in the early 1960’s that to laugh each day keeps you young and healthy. He believed that laughter was as important as staying fit, eating right and a good job in life all put together. I was younger then but decided to file that information away for future reflection.

By nature I am happy-go-lucky soul but sometimes life will beat you down. It is all too easy to get caught up in the daily grind, financial woes, family stress and job issues. In my mid fifties, I did just that, I had a couple major family issues and a major job issue all weighing on me. I lost sight of real life, the everyday joy of living and set out to work myself out of all my problems.

My parents had reached their late golden years and were becoming a handful, my brother had issues he was confronting and my private business was barely breaking even. My response was to work harder and harder and spend less time at home, while out searching for money. When I was home, I had so many family problems to deal with; I forgot that very important lesson back in the early sixties. Laugh, enjoy life and live, it will do more for your soul than any other medicine man can invent.

I suppose it was inevitable, one day I was selling a new customer, someone who did not know me from Adam. She watched me for awhile and finally commented, “You don’t look well, are you alright?” I of course smiled and assured her I was fine and finished the sale.

Back on my way to the next stop, I was happy that I had just added a new customer with good future potential and was still on track to see my other customers. Not fifty miles down the road; I started having overheating problems with my truck. When I got to the next town I found a mechanical shop and he diagnosed it as a water pump and informed me I would be spending the night. After dinner, I called my wife and during our conversation I began to get a rhythmic stabbing in my left shoulder. I tried to ignore it but soon it was overwhelming. I called home again and advised my wife I was going to go over to a walk in clinic and have it checked out.

Well the long story short, was I was on the verge of a massive coronary, most likely fatal by all medical predictions. Major wake-up call! I was lucky and only need a stent to fix the blockage and was advised to change my ways.

Over the next few months I did a lot of soul searching and realized that I was taking on life’s stress in bucket loads. The first thing I had to do was to dump some stress. How do you do that? For me it turned out to be a simple decision. Start living my life again, enjoying the ups and downs and forget about trying to control everything. Because it cannot be done, life lives you, if you do not live it. The best you can do is roll with the punches and seek out the positive side of every crisis.

missing attribution - contact if this image belongs to you.

I reintroduced laughter and silliness into my life, I began to let things slide, like water off a duck's back and each day I felt a big weight become smaller. The bottom line was: dying now or let life beat me up and enjoy the ride. I chose the ride. I got through the entire crisis somehow and my parents are in heaven, my brother is well, my business was a casualty but I still have a loving family and my health.
Each day I make sure to search out the humor in life, the ironies and most of all the solution to that day's furrowed brow.

I'm happy to share my personal perspective on how I live life, so as to be around a good number of years yet.

The Perfect Christmas Tree

by Carol Shaw

image from A Christmas Story

Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree...

Every year, my husband would take us and our 4 little kids tramping through the cold Chicago winter of ice and snow in search of the perfect Christmas tree.
"Bundle up, kids...we're going with Daddy to get our tree."
A few years of this and the kids were asking, "Mom, do we have to go?"
He just had an eye for what he wanted and that was that. Must be the master gardener in him. Our trees looked so perfect that when guests came over during the holidays they would say, "Oh, what a pretty tree! Is it real or artificial?"

Even after we moved to Arizona it was the same thing, only we didn't have to tramp through the snow to find one. One year, he was very busy, working long hours at the family business and really didn't have much time to shop for a tree. After about the second lot we visited, they had a tree all set up as a demo. It was flocked with artificial snow, covered with lights, ornaments and all.
"How much for that one?" says he.
With a much-surprised look on the salesman's face, they decided on a price and off we went with it. Brought it home, set it up, and that was that!

Then we bought our cabin up in Pine, Arizona, which backs up to the Tonto National Forest. The family all gathers there for Christmas each year, all of our kids, their spouses and our grandkids. The first two years we bought live trees, thinking we would help Mother Nature with a few more trees...however, that didn't work out because we were not there to attend to them.

image borrowed from this post at Mother  Earth News blog.

Not wanting to buy a fresh cut tree - because we wanted to go up early to decorate, and then un-decorate after the holidays - he finally relented and we bought our first artificial Christmas tree. Of course, this was no easy task, either. You know how many different artificial trees there are out there.

Well, ours was a beauty. The cabin having high ceilings, we chose a really tall tree. It was so big, in fact, that our granddaughter wrote an essay for school about the humungous Christmas tree her Papa put up at the cabin. As the family got bigger and the room got smaller, he took to pruning the tree. Yes, I said pruning. Got out the old wire snips and did it. He is probably the only person you will ever know  that pruned an artificial tree!!

Last year he decided it was time to purchase a new one, and got a very tall, slim tree. Really turned out lovely, only it got a thumbs-down from the grandkids! They wanted another humungous one!

So guess what? Once again...Christmas tree, Oh, Christmas tree...

Thanks, Carol, for this wonderful Christmas memory!

Wanted: Holiday Stories!

OK, people, time to rally with those Christmas and Hanukkah stories!! 

Christmas - Santa Reading Mail by Norman Rockwell

What's your best holiday memory??

-did you sleep in the living room to try and catch Santa red-handed?

-melt the menorah?

-run over the Nativity scene with the Vista Cruiser?

-hide an engagement ring in the pudding?

We can't wait to hear all of your best festive tales!

from Richard Codor's Little Blog of Jewish Humor

The winner of our Thanksgiving Contest is Trudy Schuett! Thanks, Trudy for your story about your dad's favorite dessert recipe, Cherry Crap! 

Enjoy your Amazon gift card!

Keep those stories coming!

“Shay Ajeeb!” or, Bobby, our intelligent dog

by Lois Dickason 

Lois writes about the unusual experience of having a pet dog in a foreign country. Her parents were Reformed Church in America missionaries in Muscat, Oman:

Bobby was a birthday gift to our brother Norman in 1940 - one of a litter of thirteen pups born to a dog owned by Major A. O. C. Pettyfer (mentioned in Oman In the Twentieth Century, pgs. 93 and 107), the British Military Advisor to Sultan Sa’id bin Taymor in Muscat, Oman that year.  Another one of the same litter, subsequently named Susan, somehow made the long ship’s journey from one end of the Persian Gulf to the other as a gift for our little cousins, Marilyn and Lewis, toddler daughter and baby son of Dr. Lewis and Dorothy Scudder, Mom’s brother and his wife.  Bobby was a mix of Red Setter and Golden Retriever, a beautiful shiny gold, who came to our family in time to make a little boy very happy on his November 5^th birthday.  

Bobby was much loved by the family and partial to Norm and Dad.  He loved to accompany the family to the beach and would run ahead of the ’36 Ford touring car (named “Zem Zem”), which could not go very fast on the rutted bumpy roads.  Dad taught him the usual tricks, such as “roll over”, “sit”, “lie down” and “shake hands”.  Sometimes he would give the commands in English and sometimes in Arabic using the appropriate gestures for each command.

Bobby may have looked like this "Irish-Golden"
(photo via Retriverman.wordpress.com)

One day Sheikh Hamed Bin Haamed, a thin and relatively tall and dignified man from the inland area of Samayl came to visit Dad.  He would often stay in our home when he came to Muttrah and we in turn  would stay in his guest quarters when visiting Jenaa, whered he lived.  As he was being served coffee and dates in our parlor, our dog, Bobby came into the room.  The sheikh recoiled in horror since dogs are considered unclean.  (The worst insult to an Arab is to be called a “kelb”, meaning “dog”.)  He said to Dad, “You have a kelb!!?”  Dad said, “Don’t worry.  He is not a ‘kelb’.  He is a  ‘dog’ – a very intelligent animal.  In fact he understands commands in Arabic and English.”  Dad then put Bobby through all his tricks, both in Arabic and English and Bobby went through all the paces without a hitch.  The Sheikh was most impressed and said, “Shay ajeeb!” (“This is amazing!”)

Several weeks later, another man came to the hospital from Jenaa.  He came to the house and asked if he could see the dog that “T’kelam Arabiya wa Englaisie:” speaks Arabic and English. The story had gotten around and Bobby’s reputation became slightly exaggerated.

Unfortunately Bobby only lived a few years.  He developed a skin disease related to the extreme heat in Oman (there was no air conditioning in those days and his fairly long coat of hair added to the discomfort).  We children stayed in India during WW II from 1942 – 1945, and Bobby stayed in Mutrah, Oman, so we did not have a chance to enjoy our pet for long.  However, his fond memory lives on.

Thanks for this unique take on pet ownership, Lois! 

This story came to us from Lois in Michigan, to her Hope College roommate, Una in New Jersey, who is the mother of one of my writing buddies! Wow, talk about a traveling tale! Thanks to all of you for keeping in touch, and sending in your story. Keep those stories coming! There are still 5 days left in our contest!!

Heidi and Eileen

Great Advice from Great-Aunt Violet

by Diane J. Standiford

My great-aunt Violet went to the Dr. to have her ears irrigated. "She kept the waiting room in stitches," my cousin said. She did however call the doctor a son of a b____, and while waiting shouted out (as only someone with stuffed ears can), "Why is the doctor taking so long?! Doesn't he know I am 102 and could go anytime?!"

The Dog-Violet Fairy, by Cicely Mary Barker

Aunt Violet Donna Lucille Boveine was the youngest of  six children. Her mother named her Violet and her two sisters were allowed to choose another name, hence her three names. She never married, but was never, ever, alone. Most of her many nieces and nephews were in some way raised by her. She lived from the age of 17 with her schoolmate, Ivah, until Ivah's death in her 80s. With Aunt Violet driving, they visited many states, worked many jobs, bought their own houses, and were women ahead of their time---never afraid to try new things.

Of our very large family, Aunt Vi lived the longest (so far), to age 103. She was a straight shooter and we all went to her for advice. 

I once asked her what her first memory was. She said it was when she sat on the front steps of the small house her father built and heard a boy shouting while running towards her. He was selling the newspaper and wildly shouting, "The Titanic Sinks!  The Titanic Sinks!" Her father rarely could afford the newspaper, but he bought that copy, so she knew it was something very important. 

I once asked her what her secret was to living so long and she replied, "Damned if I know! Just do what you want, that's what I did."  

Diane J. Standiford 

54 years old

Seattle, Washington

Thanks Diane! 

For more from Diane, please visit her blog: Retired in Seattle Viewpointe

Gordon and the Big, Mean, Turkey

As promised, here is our second helping, from Trudy Schuett, of Yuma, AZ.

Gordon and the Big, Mean, Turkey

by Trudy Schuett

Does your family always have a turkey for Thanksgiving, or do you have a pre-holiday discussion, turkey vs. ham like we do?

I grew up in a family with a ham tradition. Every holiday, my mother would trot out a five or ten-pound (depending on the number of people) canned Rath ham. My husband’s family always had turkey, even on Easter.

We never had turkey or chicken, even on regular days. That’s because my parents and grandparents, with my aunt and uncle had a poultry farm in the Depression era, and so for many years, that was what there was to eat. “Chicken and green beans,” my dad used to say. “If you didn’t want that, you could have green beans and chicken.”

They did experiment with turkeys for a while at the Purlingbrook Poultry Farm. Turkeys however, are a different bag of feathers. While you’ve probably heard the story that they’re so stupid they can drown in the rain by looking up to see what’s coming out of the sky, they’re big critters when they still have all their parts, and territorial. They can be big trouble, especially when you’ve got an inquisitive toddler loose in the yard.

Turkeys aren’t like chickens, which pretty much eat and make a mess, and not much else. They’re not big enough to cause any serious trouble.

One summer afternoon, my grandmother looked up from her work in the house and realized little Gordon had wandered off again. He’s my second-eldest brother. Grandma kept an eye on the kids while my mother was either out back in the garden or tending the chickens. At that time, there were only the two boys, Larry and Gordon. After a brief survey of the house, Grandma went outside in search of the missing little boy, when she heard shrieks coming from the turkey pen.

She ran to investigate, and there was Gordon, in his diaper, cowering against a corner of the fence. Two or three turkeys, as tall or even taller, were approaching him, beaks at the ready, to dispatch this intruder. Grandma called to my aunt who happened by, and leapt into the fray, to save the terrified kid from a certain assault. Auntie Teen soon followed, to run interference. Despite some pecking and plenty of un-Grandma-like language, the two women managed to save my brother, who was retrieved unharmed.

It wasn’t long after that, the dinner menu changed to turkey for a while, and the Purlingbrook Poultry Farm returned to dedicated chicken-and-egg production. In later years, when I was old enough to start asking questions, like why we always had ham, my mother would say it was because Dad preferred ham, and Dad would mutter something about “big, mean birds.” Eventually I did get the whole story, and I could figure out why Dad wouldn’t want one of those things on his table.

Gordon, however, gleefully digs in to his roast turkey on Thanksgiving, as his wife comes from a turkey family, and he probably feels a bit of sweet revenge in any case.

- We hope everyone had a nice, warm, belly-filling Thanksgiving dinner−whether you prefer ham or turkey−and that many stories and laughs were shared around the table. 

Don't forget about our contest! (see previous post, or click here.) 

The winner will receive a $25 Amazon gift card - hey, one less present to buy, right? So keep those stories coming!

Thanks for reading, and Happy Thanksgiving!

Heidi and Eileen